


Greg and the Lantern Bearer

by argonautoida



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, Death as a major theme, Fall is OTGW Time, I wrote a lot of fake folk songs for this, Lantern-Bearer Wirt, Original Character - Freeform, Please enjoy them?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argonautoida/pseuds/argonautoida
Summary: Wirt stayed behind and Greg came back. Some time later, with a pure heart and a determined mind, Greg decides to go get his brother back. After making it to the Unknown, meeting some old friends and making some new ones, it is up to Greg to save his brother and right what is wrong.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. Before, After, Unknown

When he woke up, his mother and father were there. So was Jason Funderberker, the frog, not the boy. He smiled. His parents smiled back. Then he asked where Wirt was and then his mother crumpled. This was the story. He and Wirt had gone to the cemetery and he had messed around and then they’d climbed over a wall and then there was a train and then they fell into a cold river and then Wirt’s friends pulled him to safety but not Wirt.When he woke up, his mother and father were there. So was Jason Funderberker, the frog, not the boy. He smiled. His parents smiled back. Then he asked where Wirt was and then his mother crumpled. This was the story. He and Wirt had gone to the cemetery and he had messed around and then they’d climbed over a wall and then there was a train and then they fell into a cold river and then Wirt’s friends pulled him to safety but not Wirt.

There was a before and an after. Before was with an older brother in the attic bedroom and after was without. There was also an Unknown that came to him when he dreamed sometimes, with a bluebird and singing frogs and old cats and a woodsman. And a Beast. But he knew it was not true. There was also a doctor in the after who helped him with that. His mother had told him that it would be good for him to go after he got out of the hospital but before the divorce. He liked the doctor. He was a kind man with little glasses and he always said he liked his songs.

In the after-after, the second after, the divorce after, he and his mother moved to a different house in the same town and his father moved to the city for work. He liked visiting his father on every other weekends, alternating Thanksgivings and Christmases, and for three weeks every summer. He lived in an old house that had been turned into four apartments. He said that it was built close to two-hundred years ago. It reminded him a little bit of the inn in the Unknown, but he kept that to himself. They would go to the zoo and the park and the museums. When it was really hot out, they got on a train and rode three hours to visit his grandparents, who lived in another old house right on the beach. 

Jason Funderberker, the frog, always came with him.

Most of the time, he found that he wasn’t quite as happy as before, but that he was happy enough. Time passed, and then more time, and then it had been several years and then he was almost the same age as his brother when he had drowned. Jason Funderberker, the frog, was quite old now. His mother had started telling him that he wouldn’t live forever. She also had started saying that he looked like his brother. He was not so sure. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw a round face and a small nose. Wirt’s face had been thinner and his nose bigger. Wirt had overall been thinner and a little bit taller, he thought. They had the same eyes, though. And the same messy hair. He wondered if he would still annoy Wirt now.

Right now, he was sitting on the floor of his room looking at the bags of stuff he had just bought for the new school year. He did not feel like putting them away yet. He doubted that he ever would. Jason Funderberker, the frog, ribbited him quietly from the rather large tank he lived in.

“What do you think? Maybe if I close my eyes and wish real hard, it’ll all just put itself away. Poof!” he said.

“Greg, did you put all that stuff away yet?” his mother called from downstairs as if she knew exactly what he was wishing.

“No. Not yet.”

“Well Jason Funderberker isn’t going to put it away. And you have a big day tomorrow. First day of high school!"

Greg made a face. Jason Funderberker, the frog, stared at him dolefully. He picked up a bag and looked inside. Pencils, pens, a few highlighters, and three folders, red, blue, and green. He glanced at the other bags of school supplies and set it down again with a sigh. Outside, it was getting dark. The first star was already shining through his window.

“Star oh star up in the sky, guide my dreams with light that shines, help me… I can’t remember the rest, Jason Funderberker.”

Jason Funderberker, the frog, did not respond and then there was a knock at his door.

“Greg?” his mother said gently.

“Come in,” he said, standing to face her and not bothering to hide the mess.

“Still a mess, huh?”

Greg nodded. His mother sat on his bed. She had the same messy brown hair as he and Wirt and the same eyes. She looked more like Wirt though, with a thin face and a large nose.

“I know you’re thinking about him. I am too.”

Greg did not answer. He did not want to talk about Wirt just then.

“I know it’s been hard since…since everything happened, but you’re going to do great in high school, Greg. I know it.”

“Yeah?” Greg said.

“Yeah. Wirt was scared too and he made friends. He even joined orchestra.”

“But not marching band.”

“No, not marching band,” his mother said sadly.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I can bring Jason Funderberker to school tomorrow?”

“Greg…”

“He’ll be quiet, and I can keep him in my bag. No one will see.”

“Greg, he’s a frog.”

“So?”

“And you’re fourteen now. You’re too old to be carrying that poor old frog with you wherever you go.”

“But he gets lonely when I’m gone.”

“Greg, I know–”

“And he’s my responsibility. Wirt said—”

“Don’t, honey, please.”

Greg stopped and watched as his mother put her head in her hands. He felt younger than he had in quite some time.

“Jason Funderberker is not Wirt. I know he is important to you, but he isn’t your brother.”

“I know that,” Greg said.

His mother didn’t say anything, and she didn’t take her head out of her hands. Greg knew she was right, but somewhere, in the back of his mind, he didn’t quite believe it. The frog had been there in that Unknown time that he hardly remembered anymore. And that was the last place he had seen Wirt.

“Come here,” his mother said, taking her head out of her hands.

Greg went and sat next to her on the bed. She pulled him into a hug, and he leaned his head against her shoulder. He was still a little bit shorter than she was.

“I know tomorrow is a big day and I know it will be hard, but you’re going to be okay. You…you need to grow up, just a little bit, okay Greg?”

Greg nodded against her shoulder.

“Do you want my help putting all this stuff away?”

“No, but do you remember that old poem you used to say before I went to sleep?”

“ _Star oh star up in the sky,  
Guide my dreams with light that shines,  
Help me fall to peaceful sleep,  
And dream of leaping snow white sheep, _” his mother sang gently.__

____

“Thanks. I was having a hard time remembering.”  


__

“Glad I could help. Dinner will be ready soon. At least put some of this away.”“Okay.”

__

His mother let him go. She smoothed his hair, tapped on Jason Funderberker, the frog’s, tank familiarly, and left.

__

__When she left, Greg put all the bags in his closet. He opened the drawer in his desk that always stuck and pulled out an old math book. He opened it and inside was a smaller journal. Greg had a secret that was his and his alone. It involved a beast and his brother and death. It was almost time. The world gave you clues if you let it and so did old folktales. Full moons were key and so were the right words. And so was bravery and a pure heart. He did not remember much from the Unknown. A bluebird, singing frogs, a lantern, a woodsman. His brother. A Beast. It was nearly time. All the signs were right._ _


	2. The Grump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vague suicide themes. If you want to skip, I'll have a quick summary at the very end.

The night before school started, there was a full moon. It shone happily through the leaves on the tree and through his bedroom window. That was important. It all felt very important. Last time he had gone, he hadn’t brought anything but pants full of candy. And, he supposed, Jason Funderberker, the frog. This time, he would plan a little bit better. He had a backpack, an old one, not the new one he’d bought for school, filled with food, a blanket, and a flashlight. He also had the pocket knife his father had given him just a little over a year ago, when he turned thirteen.

Once his mother was asleep, Greg took Jason Funderberker, the frog, and put him in the backpack. Then he tip-toed through the house, just as quiet as it was possible to be. His mother never stirred. When he was outside, he took his bike and his helmet and peddled through the quiet, sleepy town. They had moved two miles, nearly exactly, from their old house. That meant he had to ride two and a half miles to the old cemetery. Since the accident, the gate was locked at night. But the kids in town knew how to get around that. Greg found the hole in the wall, hidden by a bush, that he had seen some older kids slip through weeks ago, when he had first began watching the cemetery a way in. He left his bike near it, a clue for anyone who cared to look, and slid through.

The cemetery was dead silent because the only people there were the dead. Greg picked his way through the graves until he found the tree he climbed with Wirt all those years ago. From his back, Jason Funderberker, the frog, let out a croak, as if he knew what Greg was up to and did not approve.

“Hush, you. We need to get Wirt. It won’t be that hard. You’ll see,” Greg said with more confidence that he felt.

Greg climbed the tree and then stood on the top of the wall. Other than the lock on the gate, nothing else had changed since what had happed. His mother still ranted about it from time to time, as if children were climbing the tree and jumping to the train tracks on a daily basis. Greg was glad her many pleas to the city council had gone unheeded. That way, everything could be like that night.

Above him, the stars twinkled faintly, drowned by the light of the moon. It was a warm night. He realized he hadn’t thought to pack a jacket, but last time it had been the same season when he and Wirt got there. He wasn’t planning on staying for long. Wirt would be ready to go home. It would be easy enough to find him too. Greg turned his face to the heavens and smiled as if he were greeting an old friend. Not too far away, a train whistle sounded. It was time.

He jumped onto the train tracks and waited until the train rounded the corner. Below him, the tracks vibrated and the whistled screamed, filling the world around him with its shriek of panic. He did was he did last time, he jumped and tumbled down the hill. He hit the river hard and he looked up to the sky as he sunk.

“ _Star oh star up in the sky,_

_Guide my dreams with light that shines,_

_Help me find my way back where,_

_Wirt is waiting for me there,_

_And if you don’t, I don’t care_

_I’ll pull down your underwear_ ,” he said to the water.

He said the last part because he remembered saying that the last time. And it was still just a little funny.

As the blackness flooded his vision, he had a moment where he hoped he had done the right thing and that he would not molder at the bottom of the river for years. That he wouldn’t make his mother cry more than she already did.

The next time he opened his eyes again, he was in Cloud City. A gaggle of angels, cherubs, and animals were staring down at him with great concern.

“He’s awake! He’s awake!” they cried as he blinked at them.

He turned his head and saw Jason Funderberker, the frog, laying next to him. Two cherubs helped him sit up as a monkey led over a pretty woman with blue hair, a crown, and wings. She carried a scepter and wore a serious look. She was the Queen of the Clouds. She looked smaller than he remembered.

“You! I remember you!” Greg cried, getting to his feet with a grin.

“Hello, Greg. What are you doing here?” the woman asked gently.

“I need help and you helped me last time.”

“I did. You are lucky we heard your prayer. You are barely a child anymore and you were at the bottom of a river.”

“It’s because his heart is so pure,” an angel sighed.

“And his desire so noble,” the hippopotamus said approvingly.

“Yes, that is all true. But, Greg, I do not hand out wishes. They must be earned,” the Queen of the Clouds said.

“Then tell me what I need to do!” Greg said. For a boy drowning far away, he felt just fine.

“I will have to think if there is anything. You must give me time. Until then, please stay as my guest. I dare say that the Citizens of Cloud City will welcome you with open arms. They have very fond memories of you from last time.”

The Citizens of Cloud City cheered. Greg also cheered. Jason Funderberker, the frog, ribbited, and the Queen of the Clouds smiled gently. Greg barely had time to call his goodbye and thanks over his shoulder as two cherubs took his hands. He spent a day among the Citizens of the Cloud City, singing and dancing and running and laughing. When night fell, Greg found that he was exhausted. He did not remember being so tired the last time.

The next day, the Queen of the Clouds was waiting for him. All of the Citizens of Cloud City had gathered to hear what she had to say.

“Well, Greg, I have thought long and hard. You already defeated the North Wind—” at that, she had to stop talking for quite a time as the Citizens of Cloud City cheered. “And I cannot think of a feat to equal that. But there is still one Citizen of Cloud City you can help. The Grump.”

A murmur went up among the Citizens of Cloud City. A group of cherubs hid their faces and cried as angels comforted them. Greg was not afraid. This was merely the first thing he had to do to get Wirt back home. If he failed it, then he was no hero and he was not worthy. He might as well go home and wake up at the bottom of that river.

“I will accept the quest! Now what is The Grump?” he asked.

“You saw him last time. He formed the Forth Reception Committee. He did not join in the festivities for that is not his way. He is so grumpy that a rain cloud follows him wherever he goes. To earn you wish, you must make him smile,” the Queen of the Clouds said.

“Okay!”

The Queen of the Clouds waved her scepter and the Citizens of Cloud City parted. In the back sat a large dog with an unpleasant look on his face and a rain cloud pouring down on him. Greg did not remember him from the last time, but that did not matter. Greg went to him and smiled with a wave. Jason Funderberker, the frog, peaked out of his backpack and then ducked back in again. Apparently, he did not like The Grump.

The Grump did not smile at Greg, but he had not been expecting that. It would not be a true quest if it were that easy.

“You have until sundown tonight. If you fail, you can remain here for as long as you wish or I will send you back home,” the Queen of the Clouds said.

“Okay. Thank you, Queen!” Greg said.

“Come, Citizens, let us give him room and time.”

And then Greg and The Grump were alone. The Grump looked at Greg. Greg looked at The Grump. This would not be so hard. He had made his mother smile after Wirt. He had made his father smile after the divorce. Everyone said he was funny. Everyone said he was charming. A small part of him wished he had something harder to do.

“Hello, I’m Greg and this is Jason Funderberker, my frog.”

The Grump did not say anything. He just watched Greg with his large eyes.

“I’m here to make you smile so I can see my brother again and bring him home, so I hope your mouth muscles are ready!”

The Grump was silent. Greg had not been expecting much of a response so he began. First, he told jokes. The Grump did not smile. Second, he made funny faces. The Grump did not smile. Third, he spoke in funny voices. The Grump did not smile. Fourth, he fell. The Grump did not smile. He sang funny songs. The Grump did not smile. He danced funny dances. The Grump did not smile. He fell, panting, onto the clouds. The Grump did not smile.

“Oh, you grumpy old Grump! Why won’t you smile?” Greg cried.

“Why did you not let me sing my welcoming song last time?” The Grump said.

Greg sat up. It was the first time The Grump had spoken. He had a slow, deep voice. It was not unpleasant. In fact, it was rather melodious. But it was not like the Beast. There was no darkness or malice to be found in it.

“I don’t remember,” Greg said.

“It was my turn and you said ‘well, that’s enough’ and everyone cheered. I have never forgotten, nor shall I!” The Grump cried and his rain cloud grew darker.

“No, please! I’m sorry. Will you sing your welcoming song?” Greg asked.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“I want to hear it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, really, I do. I promise!”

“Do you swear?”

“I do.”

“Then I will sing it, but only if you gather every Citizen of Cloud City to hear it.”

“You have a deal!”

And with that, Greg was off. He went to every house and knocked on every door until every Citizen of Cloud City was in the square. It took nearly all day and by the time everyone was there, it was nearly sunset. Greg didn’t know what else to do but hope that the song would make The Grump smile.

“Okay, Grump! Everyone’s here!” Greg called.

The Grump looked out over the crowd. They were watching him nervously. The Queen of the Clouds, however, gave him an encouraging smile. The Grump took a deep breath and began.

“ _Oh, I am The Grump,_

_Above me it rains._

_Should you ever ask,_

_I will tell everyone’s names._

_I take my job seriously,_

_Just ask the Wind of the North,_

_And I am Committee the Fourth!_ ”

The Grump finished his song and looked over the crowd. There was a pause and then every Citizen of Cloud City broke into rapturous applause. The Grump’s dour face twitched and then the widest smile Greg had ever seen crossed it. The cloud above him turned white and a rainbow shined down from it. And then the last rays of the sun sunk beneath the clouds.

“Well done, Greg!” the Queen of the Clouds exclaimed.

“Thank you,” Greg replied.

“I will now grant your wish.”

“I wish for Wirt to come home with me!” Greg said.

“Oh, Greg, that is not within my power to grant. Is there perhaps something else you’d like?”

“Well, if you can’t bring him home, then I will have to. I wish I was back where I was when I last saw Wirt!” Greg said.

“Very well. May you and your brother both find your way home.”

The Queen of the Clouds Waved her scepter and Greg was in a forest. It was very still, but not as scary as he remembered it. The late summer light filtered through the leaves and there was far less snow than there had been. In fact, there was no snow at all. On the ground in front of Greg was an old, weathered tree stump. He bent down and touched it, remembering something awful for just a moment.

“Wirt?” he called.

There was no answer.

“WIRT!”

Nothing called back so he took Jason Funderberker, the frog, out of his pack.

“Guess he’s not here anymore. We’ll have to find him ourselves. Come on!” Greg said and set off into the Unknown.

Through the trees, a lantern blinked, but Greg did not see it. He was too busy looking for a path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the second chapter! I may be moving next week, so fingers crossed for getting the next chapter up on time! Also, if anyone has a better idea how to address the trigger warning at the beginning, please let me know. This should also be the only chapter with a trigger warning and is definitely that only one that even alludes to suicide, although death is a theme throughout, but like as a concept. 
> 
> If you skipped, Greg goes to Cloud City, completes a quest, and is sent to the Unknown! Jason Funderberker, the frog, joins him.


	3. A Bit of Yarn

He had been walking for some time. He was not sure how long. Time stretched in shrank there, seemingly of its own accord. He remembered that from last time. It was a nice day, though. Warm but not hot and sunny but not bright. He had already eaten two of his candy bars. He would save the rest for later when he needed them. Jason Funderberker, the frog, was sleeping comfortably in his backpack.

It had occurred to him that he did not know where his brother might be, but it was not worrying him yet. Last time, they had found everything they needed to with hardly any trouble. Or at least that was how he remembered it. Plus, he was bigger now. It would be easier to make his way this time.

From his backpack, Jason Funderberker, the frog, croaked in what sounded suspiciously like warning. Greg stopped and looked around. There was no one to be seen and even the trees seemed peaceful. Greg reached into his pack and pulled out Jason Funderberker, the frog.

“What is it?”

He croaked again.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak frog, but I think we’re okay.”

This time, he croaked skeptically.

“Well don’t worry. You’ll be home in your nice, warm tank before you know it!”

If frogs could have rolled their eyes, Jason Funderberker, the frog, would have. Greg decided not to address that and moved to put the frog back in his pack. Then he stopped. Something was rustling up ahead. It sounded bigger than a frog or a rabbit or a bluebird. It sounded human sized. Greg held his breath, wondering if Wirt would wander into his path as if he was expecting him and the whole adventure really would be just that easy.

It was not. A girl fell onto the path. She was shorter than Greg and was wearing a white, lacey dress. A pink bow was perched in her hair, which fell across the path in golden piles. If Greg were being honest and just a little bit rude, he would say that her hair looked like yarn. Then the girl sat up and he saw that it was yarn. She looked a bit like a rag doll come to life. Her skin was soft and felted and her eyes looked painted on, as did her mouth, but both moved freely. In every way, she should have been scary. But she wasn’t. There were tears just on the edge of her eyes. Greg took a cautionary step towards her. She slammed her little fists onto the ground in outrage and he stopped.

“Bother!” she yelled in a surprisingly loud voice.

“Are you alright?” Greg asked.

The girl gasped and turned her attention to him. A rosy blush colored her cheeks.

“Oh! I am terribly sorry. I thought I was alone,” she said, brushing her skirt off delicately.

“It’s okay. Are you okay?”

The girl sighed and shook her head. She offered him her hand and Greg pulled her to her feet. Her hand was soft and slightly rough, as if she were made from an old, worn wool.

“I was minding my own business and horrid creature came and stole, well—”

The girl blushed and pulled at her hair. There, just behind her left ear, was a bald spot. There was a frayed bit of yellow yarn, as if someone had ripped it out roughly. The tears that were threatening to spill finally did and she turned away from Greg in embarrassment.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I wish I could help, but--” Greg said.

The girl whirled around to face him, her tears dry.

“Help me? Why, what a kind and brave offer!” the girl cried.

Greg did not answer right away. If he were being very honest with himself, he did not want to help this strange girl. He needed to find his brother and get home before his mother noticed that he was missing. But then again, she needed help. And he knew he had to be kind and keep his pure heart if he wanted to get both him and his lost brother back home. That was how it always was in fairy tales.

“Yep. That’s me! Greg, the kind and brave.”

“I am forever in your debt. And you may call me Irene.”

“Well, Irene, what did the creature who took your hair look like?”

“It was a cat, but not just any cat! Nearly the size of a person and wearing a yellow hat. Cat’s oughtn’t to wear hats, you know. It’s very unnatural.”

Greg did note that this was fair coming from a talking doll, but thought it would be rude to say so. Irene was already heading deeper into the forest and he had no choice but to follow. From his backpack, Jason Funderberker, the frog, croaked.

“Goodness! Was that a frog?” the girl said.

“Yes. This is Jason Funderberker. He’s my friend.” Greg said, holding Jason Funderberker, the frog, out to Irene.

Irene gave the frog a skeptical look, but held out her hand like any polite young lady would. Jason Funderberker, the frog, held out his hand and they shook, though Irene looked as if she did not enjoy it one bit.

“I’m terribly sorry, but we don’t have time to waste on pleasantries. If I don’t get my hair back from that horrid cat, I shall be ugly forever,” Irene said.

“I don’t think you’re ugly,” Greg said, to be polite.

“How kind of you to say, but I know how I look with half my hair missing. Now keep up. I believe the miscreant went this way!”

Greg and Irene walked for quite some time. This part of the forest grew thick with trees and thin with creatures. It was cool and dark and far creepier than anyplace Greg had ever remembered going. Irene did not seem to mind anything except for the mud, which she insisted on walking around. The two of them did not talk much, their ears sharp for signs of the cat burglar. In the distance, Greg thought he heard a deep voice sing, but it was very faint and so far away that he could hardly hear it. Then a different sort of music took over. It was much cheerier than the gloomy singing by far and Greg found himself tapping his finger along to it.

Finally, Irene stopped suddenly. There, on the ground, was a length of pale-yellow yarn.

“My hair!” Irene cried, plucking it from the ground and holding it to her as if it were some precious thing. 

“We must be close,” Greg said, pointing. Up ahead were two more lengths of yarn.

“Oh it will take me forever to clean all the grit out!” Irene said, half in delight, as she skipped ahead to gather the rest of the yarn.

“Is that all of it?” Greg asked.

Irene shook more dirt and grit off and held the yarn to her head. With a dismal cry she shook her head.

“There’s still one piece missing! Oh, how terrible,” Irene said.

“Well I don’t think anyone will notice and I have to—”

“We must find the rest! Come along.”

Greg kept his complaints to himself and followed along after Irene. He was beginning to think she was more trouble than she was worth. From his backpack, Jason Funderberger, the frog, croaked as if he agreed.

As they followed little bits of yellow fuzz through the woods, the cheery music grew louder and louder until it seemed to surround them. Greg was becoming concerned that the music was more sinister than they had originally believed when they came through a thick grove of trees to find a little stage. A small band of animals were playing together while a crowd of people danced to it. A woman was conducting them and a banner reading “The Langtree Musicians” hung above them. It was a purely whimsical sight that brought a grin to Greg’s face. When he turned to Irene to see how she was taking in such a delightful scene, he was surprised to find her staring with narrowed eyes at a sheep playing the harp. There, serving as a string, was the last piece of Irene’s hair.

“Thief!” she called.

The music stopped and all the dancers turned to stare at them. Irene did not notice. She was storming up to the stage, in quite a pique. She vaulted onto the stage with surprising grace and made her way to the sheep.

The sheep, for his part, just bleated in confusion.

“Goodness, what is all this about?” the conductor cried.

“Your awful animals have taken my hair! And I demand it be returned,” Irene said.

“Did you do this?” the conductor asked.

One by one, the animals shook their heads.

“I don’t see any cats, Irene,” Greg said quietly as he joined the little group onstage.

“A cat you say? Goodness, I know just what happened. It must have been that cat burglar! She knew Bartleby here was missing a string. Poor thing was trying to help.”

“Help or not, I demand my hair be returned to me at once,” Irene said.

“Then how will we play our music?” the conductor asked.

“That is not my concern.”

With a great sadness, the conductor instructed Bartleby to remove Irene’s hair and return it. Greg could not help but feel sorry for the animal band. They sniffed away tears and tried to put on a brave face.

“Well, I suppose our concert is over,” the conductor said.

The dancers let out noises of disappointment and boos. A few of the animals began to wail. It was a pitiful sight.

“Wait! I have an idea,” Greg said as he knelt to undo one of his shoelaces.

Bartleby took the offered shoelace with a bleat of joy and restrung his harp. The dancers cheered and the other animals clapped.

“What a kind young man! Now, get off the stage. We have a concert to finish,” the conductor said.

Greg and Irene jumped off the stage as the music began again.

“That was very clever of you and rather selfless too,” Irene said.

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t need a shoelace,” Greg said.

“Still, I must thank you and apologize for my behavior. I did not mean to lose my temper in such a public manner.”

“It’s okay,” Greg said, mostly because it was over. 

Before either of them could say anything more, music drifted to them from the woods, just on the other side of the stage. It was a clarinet. Greg’s heart leapt.

“WIRT!” he yelled.

Greg forgot all about Irene, the animals, and dancers, and everything else as he ran towards the music. He would find Wirt and they would be back home before he knew it. Instead of running headlong into his brother, however, he ran headlong into a cat in a yellow hat. She was playing a simple tune on a clarinet. When she saw Greg, she stopped playing and let out a happy meow. Tears pricked Greg’s eyes.

The cat rubbed against him in a comforting way as she made her way onstage. The conductor greeted her with a cry of joy and she took her place in the band. Greg tried not to feel angry or disappointed but found it rather hard.

“Are you alright?” Irene asked.

“I just thought she was someone else. I’m looking for my brother. He’s lost somewhere in here,” Greg said.

“How awful! What does he look like? Perhaps I have seen him!” Irene said.

“He’s probably taller than me and thin with a big nose and hair like mine. He was wearing a red, pointed hat and a blue cape the last time I saw him. He plays the clarinet,” Greg said.

“I can’t say that I know anyone who fits that description. I do wish I could help, as you have done me such a good turn.” 

“I was just helping. It was nice to meet you, but I better get back to looking for him,” Greg said, turning away from the musicians.

“Wait. Do you have a place to stay at night?” Irene asked.

“No, but—”

“Then you will stay with me. These woods are perilous at night.”

“Why?”

“The Beast and the Lantern Bearer roam them. It is said that he will steal your soul and put it in his lantern. You do not wish that, do you?”

“Actually, I’m looking for the Beast.”

“I did not take you for that sort of person,” Irene said, drawing back with a look of horror.

“Well, my brother knows the Beast.”

“If he knows the Beast, then you had best give up on him. He is either completely within his power or long dead. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but it is the truth. I hope I have not made you sad,” Irene said quickly.

“My brother isn’t dead and he isn’t in the Beast’s power. He tricked him into staying here and I’m going to bring him home.”

Irene studied Greg hungrily. Her painted on eyes seemed to shine with a light that Greg could not name and was not entirely sure he liked.

“Home? You aren’t from here?” Irene asked.

“No.” Greg said.

“I didn’t think…I’m not either. I want to go home too, but I can’t. I’ve been stuck here for quite some time.”

“Why don’t you come with me? We can find Wirt and maybe you can come home too.”

Greg was not sure why he had offered, but he was glad he had. It was the right thing to do and Irene already looked happier. She put the yarn they had taken from the cat into her pocket and began marching ahead with her chin held high.

“I kindly accept your offer. My mother must be looking for me. And my father. They’re members of high society, you know.”

“I didn’t know that. But that sounds nice. My mom’s does advertising stuff and my dad’s a dentist.”

“Oh, so not quite so high society then, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I think our society is just find where it is.”

The two of them left the clearing and music just a song Greg half remembered was beginning. It had something to do with molasses and seemed a rather silly song.

They walked for quite some time. The sun did not get any lower, but Greg could remember the strange, unlikely way that time worked the last time he had been there. Irene made polite small talk the entire time. Greg did not particularly enjoy this, but he did learn quite a bit about her. She had a wealthy father and a pretty mother. She was their only daughter and apple of their eye. She had a dashing older brother who was away doing adventurous things. Her life sounded quite lovely and, even if Irene could be a little snobbish, he hoped he could help her get home.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Greg, however did you get here?” Irene asked after quite a while.

“I jumped off a wall and then I fell down a hill and then I rolled into the river. How did you get here?” Greg replied.

“Hm. Well I…don’t recall. It’s all a little bit fuzzy if I may be frank.”

“You can, Frank.”

Irene gave him what passed for an annoyed look.

“Anyway. I’m impressed that you remember so much.”

“I got here the same way last time with my brother.”

“I see. Greg, have you ever thought that perhaps he wants to stay here? Many people who find there way here are perfectly content here, after all.”

“Not Wirt. And my mom misses him a lot.”

That seemed to be enough for Irene. She gave a firm, understanding nod.

“We aren’t far now. I have taken up residence in a small cabin. Its only one room, far below my usual standards. I hope you do not mind,” Irene said.

“No. I don’t mind,” Greg said.

As the shadows began to lengthen, they arrived at a familiar looking hut. It was small and round and make of stones. Ivy grew down its walls and a chimney stuck out from its roof. It was run down and not the sort of place he imagined Irene living, but he supposed she was lost much like he and Wirt had been. They had stayed in odd places then too.

“Now, don’t be afraid. A terrible witch used to live here, but she died some time ago,” Irene said.

“I remember! This is Adelaide of the Pasture’s house,” Greg said, a memory of strings and smoke coming back to him with such a force he nearly stumbled.

“You know her?” Irene asked.

“Not really. She was going to turn my brother and me into child slaves.”

“Oh, yes. She was terribly unpleasant.”

Irene went into the house and Greg followed her. Inside was much nicer than outside. It looked as if Irene had been using it for some time. The floor was clean and there were flowers in a vase on the small table. The bed where Adelaide had been sitting when Greg first met her had been replaced by a smaller brass one and a small couch. There were even curtains embroidered with delicate flowers.

“Is this your house?” Greg asked.

“I have been staying here for a bit, ever since I heard that that awful woman was gone,” Irene replied.

“That was a long time ago. My brother killed her the first time we were her.”

“He killed her?”

“Yes, but it was an accident. He didn’t—”

“It was a good thing he did. She made me like this,” Irene said, gesturing dramatically to her doll-like face.

“She did?”

“She cursed me because she was angry I would not be her servant. I was hoping that when I went back home, I would return to normal.”

“Maybe,” Greg said.

“Are you hungry? I don’t eat, it’s a part of the curse, so I’m afraid I don’t have anything, but there is a pecan tree outside.”

Greg made a face. He did not care for pecans. Before he could answer, there was a terrible howling sound. Irene would have gone pale if she could. Instead, she ran to the door and bolted it.

“What was that?” Greg asked.

“A horrible creature from the woods! I told you, this place is not safe,” Irene said.

“It sounded like a dog.”

“Like a horrible, beastly dog who wants nothing more than to gobble us up!”

“I think it sounds nice,” Greg said, going to the window.

In the dying light, he could just make out a brown and white dog sniffing around the cabin. It let out another whine and Irene shrunk back.

“It’s just a dog. I’m going to let it inside,” Greg said.

“No, Greg! It could be a trick!” Irene called.

Greg did not listen to her. He unbolted the door and opened it. The dog perked up when it saw him and ran towards him, wagging its tail wildly as if they were old friends. Greg threw his arms around the dog. He did not remember it, but he made it his policy to always hug dogs.

“Gertrude! Gertrude! Cheese and crackers, where is that dog?” a voice called from the woods.

Greg’s heart leapt. He let go of the dog and looked towards the forest. A young woman with curly red hair and freckles was staring at him from the edge of the woods. She was tall and slender. She wore a long, blue dress. A ribbon was making a valiant effort to keep her hair restrained and a small, gold locket hung from her neck. Her brown eyes were wide when she saw him. Greg thought there was something familiar in her eyes. It was Beatrice.

“Greg,” she said and ran to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice has finally arrived! She'll be around for the rest of the time because I love her and so does Greg. Also Irene is obviously my OC and I'm pretty unrepentant about keeping her around. She plays a part in the bigger story and I wanted to give Greg a traveling companion who was all his own. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. The Bluebird's House

Greg and Beatrice embraced like old friends, for that was what they were. Gertrude, the dog, barked wildly and jumped, wagging her tail. 

“Hello? Are you a friend of Greg’s?” Irene called politely from the door of the cabin. She had been drawn by all the commotion.

“Irene, this is Beatrice. She was a bluebird,” Greg replied. In the excitement of seeing Beatrice again, he had nearly forgotten all about Irene.

“Hi,” Beatrice said, looking at Irene warily.

“A pleasure to meet you. You must stay the night. It is nearly dark, and it is not safe to wander at night,” Irene said.

Once they were all inside, Irene seemed at a loss about what to do with two guests and an excitable dog. She settled on gesturing towards the table and pulling out a chair for Beatrice. Beatrice sat, never quite taking her eyes off of Irene.

“I do think there is some tea left. Shall I make some? Wouldn’t that be nice,” Irene babbled.

“Okay,” Greg said, sitting across from Beatrice.

Irene went to the fireplace to make some tea. Beatrice stared at Greg with wide eyes. Gertrude put her head on his leg and panted. He smiled down at the dog and began scratching her behind the ears. He had a dim memory of meeting her before, though he had been certain her eyes had been much lovelier. 

“Greg, what are you doing here?” Beatrice finally asked.

“I’m here to get Wirt. Do you know where he is?” Greg asked.

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Beatrice said, shaking her head with a sorrowful look.

“You haven’t seen him?” Greg asked, a black pit of worry opening in his chest.

“I have, but not in a while.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“Oh, Greg. I don’t—”

"Please. I’m not going until I find him and I’m sure anything you know would be helpful.”

Beatrice studied Greg for a moment and Irene began to clink teacups in an attempt to drown out what she considered a private conversation. Finally, Beatrice began.

“It wasn’t that long after you left. He gave me the scissors to save my family. I took them and left. I should have stayed, but I was worried about my family. And I missed them. And we…well, you don’t remember, do you?”

Greg shook his head. Then shrugged. Then spoke.

“I can remember some of it, but not a lot. And I think I’m remember more and more while I’m here.”

“That’s good. Anyway, a few days later, once we were all human again and everything was back to normal, I tried to find him. I wanted to thank him and make sure he was okay because, um, well, the Beast said you died. I wasn’t sure and I was right, which I knew I was and Wirt should have listened to me, but he didn’t. I found him after looking for a long time. He was different, sadder, bitter, not…well, himself. I couldn’t stay long, not after seeing him like that. It was hard. I tried to find him again, but he didn’t want to be found. I’m sorry Greg.”

“So it is my fault. He thinks I died so now he won’t come home,” Greg said feeling very close to tears.

“No, its not. I swear, the two of you! Nothing is your fault, any of this. It’s all the Beast. He just…he gets people to think what he wants them to.”

Beatrice reached out like she wanted to pat Greg’s hand or maybe hug him, but she stopped. Gertrude had moved to her side during the story, so she put a hand on her head and looked at the dog with a brittle brightness in her eyes. Seeing Beatrice cry was like seeing his mother cry. Well, at first anyway. It did not seem right, but it was happening. Greg had some experience in this, so he reached out and took Beatrice’s hand. She squeezed it and wiped her eyes.

“I’m here to save Wirt. I’m going to take him home,” Greg said.

“I don’t know if you can,” Beatrice replied.

“I can.”

“Then I will help.”

Greg smiled at Beatrice who smiled at him.

"That makes three of us!” Greg said.

“Three?” Beatrice asked.

“Irene is going to help because she wants to go home too.”

“Home to where? The toy store?”

Irene set the tea tray down with an indignant huff and gave Beatrice quite a glare.

“No. She’s from my world. And--” Greg started.

“I was the victim of Adelaide of the Pasture. I’m certain you heard of her, given her rather unsavory reputation around these parts. May I also remind you that you are a guest in my house. I would appreciate it if you refrained from such rudeness.

“Sorry,” Beatrice said, chastised. “And I know all about Adelaide and her tricks.”

“Then you should be more sensitive to other’s plights,” Irene sniffly, setting a cup of tea in front of Beatrice with such force that a bit sloshed out.

“Well, I have her magic scissors. You should come to my house tomorrow and see if they can break the spell,” Beatrice said.

“Perhaps I will. Thank you for the invitation. Now, would anyone like any sugar?” Irene said, taking her place at the table.

The tea tasted more like dust than anything, but it was nice and warm in the cabin and Beatrice was there. Greg and Beatrice told Irene about their adventures the first time Greg had come, and Irene was a very polite audience. By the time they were done, she was just as invested in helping Wirt as the other two. That night, Greg crawled under the blankets on the couch Irene had made up for him, he couldn’t help but feel that things were going his way.

The next morning began with a great fanfare from the birds that lived in the trees. When Greg awoke, Irene was already awake and setting places at the table for breakfast. Beatrice was grumbling against the daylight from her spot on the floor and Gertrude was following Irene with the kind of concentration only a dog looking for scraps can have. Jason Funderberker, the frog, was still snoring softly on his pillow.

“Good-morning!” Greg called.

"Good-morning, Greg. Will you go to the well and draw water? Gertrude can accompany you,” Irene replied.

If Beatrice said anything, Greg missed it. He took the bucket from Irene and left the little house, the dog following him. Greg laughed as she ran in circles around him and chased the birds. It was already a warm morning. Greg had a feeling that it would be a very hot day indeed and, much to his chagrin, did not look forward to walking through the forest all day.

Greg was right and the day was hot. He had filled his water bottle before they left, but between his thirst and trying to keep Jason Funderburker, the frog, cool, it was nearly gone before they had gone a mile from the house.

“How much further?” he asked.

“Another mile or two, maybe,” Beatrice said.

“Is there a place to get water? Jason Funderburker’s getting hot.”

“I know a little stream nearby. I can show you. We won’t be a moment,” Irene said sweetly.

“You two go ahead. Gertrude and I could use a rest,” Beatrice said, sitting in the shade of a tree. Gertrude sat beside her, panting hard.

Sure enough, Irene led Greg to a small stream. Greg took Jason Funderburker, the frog, out of his pack and set him in the cool muck. He let out a soft, thankful ribbit and looked like he felt much, much better.

“Greg, does it bother you that Beatrice is now in charge?” Irene said suddenly.

“No. She took care of me and Wirt last time,” Greg said.

“You said that she nearly got you enslaved by Adelaide of the Pasture. That hardly seems like being taken care of.”

"Well she changed her mind and she felt bad about it. And she helped us with Uncle Endicott and the gorilla and this town of pumpkin skeletons,” Greg said.

“Pumpkin skeletons?” Irene asked.

“Yes. They were having a harvest festival and we broke their vegetables so we had to do chores. It was nice there.”

“Well I’ve never even heard of such a place. It think is sound perfectly awful. Now come on. It certainly won’t get any cooler and your frog is looking much better,” Irene said, already heading back towards the path.

Greg filled his water bottle and took Jason Funderburker, the frog, from his muck. He followed her to the path and tried to ignore the fact that Irene did not much care for Beatrice.

By the time they arrived at Beatrice’s house, Greg felt as if he might simply die of heat. Beatrice had gone nearly as red as her hair and Gertrude was panting, her long pink tongue lolling from her mouth. Irene was the only one who seemed to be unbothered by the heat.

“A lady never sweats or lets on that she is feeling poorly,” Irene told him with a significant look at Beatrice.

Greg had a feeling that that was not entirely true but didn’t bother to correct her. He did not have the energy.

Beatrice’s house was lovely. It was white with a pretty garden and ivy climbing up the sides. A set of twins about Greg’s age were outside. Like Beatrice, they had flaming red hair and freckles. They were playing jump rope with a younger girl, also with flaming red hair though less freckles. Their song drifted towards the trio Gertrude started wagging her tail and ran to greet them.

_“One bluebird is lonely,_

_Two are a pair._

_Three bluebirds are fancy,_

_Four mean take care._

_Six bluebirds peck,_

_Seven bluebirds play._

_But unless their wings are trimmed,_

_Bluebirds they will stay.”_

Beatrice grimaced at the song, even as it stopped and the twins began waving wildly at her.

“Beatrice! You’re back!” one said, ruffling Gertrude’s fur.

“I told you I would be,” Beatrice replied.

“Mom was worried. She thought you’d get us all turned to bluebirds again,” the other one said with a mischievous grin.

"That was one time!”

“One is a lot of times to be turned into a bluebird,” the younger girl replied sagely.

Beatrice rolled her eyes.

“Well we’re all still people. Happy?” Beatrice shot back.

“Relatively. Who are you friends?” the second twin said.

“Greg, Irene, these are my brothers, Bert and Bernard, and my sister, Betty.”

Bert, the first twin, waved and Bernard, the second twin, offered his hand. Betty gave them a shy smile.

“Come on. You can get out of the sun and I can find those scissors,” Beatrice said, leading Greg and Irene into her house. Bert, Bernard, Betty, and Gertrude followed close behind.

The inside of the house was cluttered with thirteen people’s worth of stuff. Somewhere in the house, Greg could hear a piano being played as someone sang. There were snippets of conversation and laughter coming from everywhere at once. Greg found himself thinking it must be a very nice place to grow up. It was much louder and more cheerful than his own house.

Beatrice led them to a bright kitchen. A pleasant, plump woman who must be Beatrice’s mother was stirring something on the stove while a small girl with curly hair and a small boy with glasses sat at the table with a book between the two of them. All of them had the same vividly red hair as Beatrice.

“Hi mom,” Beatrice said when she entered.

“Beatrice! There you are. We thought you were going to turn us all into bluebirds again,” Beatrice’s mother said with a short laugh.

Beatrice did not respond. It was clear this joke was made often.

"Aren't you going to introduce use to your friends?” Beatrice’s mother asked.

Beatrice made the same introductions. The small girl was called Barbara and the small boy was called Bruce. They did not remember being bluebirds. They had been far too young. When Beatrice introduced Greg, Beatrice’s mother’s eyes went wide, and she set the wooden spoon down.

“Oh, you poor thing. I met your brother when he was looking for you. He must not have found you,” she said gently.

"No, but I’m going to find him,” Greg responded.

“That’s the spirit. You look hot. Sit down, I’ll get you some lemonade. Barbara! Bruce! Make room for our guest,” Beatrice’s mother said, already moving to the ice box with a glass in her hand.

Beatrice’s younger siblings moved. They watched Irene with wide eyes. As soon as she sat, they bombarded her with questions, which she answered in as good a humor as Greg had ever seen her have.

“I told Irene I’d try to find my scissors. She’s cursed, like we were,” Beatrice said.

“Poor thing. Try asking Blanche. She and Belle needed some little scissors for some project they were working on,” Beatrice’s mother said, setting glasses of lemonade down in front of Greg and Irene.

It was good, sweet, and sour as all lemonade should be. Greg soon found himself folded into Beatrice’s home as if he had always been there. He was given chores, teased by Beatrice’s siblings, and fussed over by Beatrice’s mother. A part of him would have been happy to stay forever. His own mother was often distracted, and his own home rang with silence. He did not realize how lonely he had been without Wirt until that moment. It was a shock, but one he did not dwell on as it would not help him in the least.

As the day wore on, it became clearer and clearer that the scissors had disappeared somewhere into the mess of the house. To Greg’s surprise, Irene seemed fairly unperturbed by this. She even politely suggested that they stop making such a fuss, for surely they had better things to do than hunt down a pair of magic scissors.

“Don’t be silly, my dear. We will find them soon. Now eat your dirt,” Beatrice’s mother said to a sulky Irene over dinner.

Beatrice and some of her older siblings rolled their eyes, but the younger ones laughed. Irene made a delicate face of disgust and pushed her plate, which was piled high with roast vegetables and chicken, away from her.

“She’s being weird. We used to eat dirt, well worms, back when we were bluebirds. It’s really just normal food,” Beatrice explained.

“Oh. How…unpleasant. And I do thank you for the food, but I’m afraid I don’t eat in my current state,” Irene said, pulling the plate back towards her with the same delicacy.

"Poor thing! Once you’re back to normal, you’ll have to come for dinner. I’ll even make my famous lemon meringue pie,” Beatrice’s mother said in a particularly motherly fashion.

Dinner was noisy and joyful. Afterwards, the youngest were put to bed while the older children, with Greg and Irene’s help, cleaned up. Then they played cards or the piano or read until one by one, they drifted off to their own rooms. When the moon was high and Greg was beginning to yawn, Beatrice stood gestured for them to follow her.

“Come on. My mom made up some couches for you guys,” Beatrice said.

Greg and Irene followed her to a small office where two small couches covered in colorful quilts were waiting for them.

“This will do quite nicely. Thank you,” Irene said.

"You’re welcome,” Beatrice said flatly. “Now get some rest. We’ll try to find the scissors again tomorrow.”

Greg was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. In his dream, a strange creature with long horns sent him to find silver string and capture the sun. When he woke, he was cold and scared and couldn’t quite figure out why. He rolled over, went back to sleep, and forgot everything by the morning.

They found the scissors the next day. They had been shoved in a pot in the green house. No one was quite sure who had done it, but it hardly mattered now that they were found.

Irene held them as if they were quite delicate. For the first time since Greg had known her, she looked uncertain.

“How do they work?” she asked Beatrice.

“Well we had to clip our wings off. I…don’t know what you’d have to cut off actually,” Beatrice replied.

"Did it hurt?”

“Oh, yeah, but hey look, arms!” Beatrice said waving her arms. “So, it was worth it.”

“Well, I’m not sure if--”

“Here. I’ll help!” Greg said taking the scissors from her.

Greg took a strand of Irene’s yellow yarn hair and put it between the blades. Irene snatched it back in a moment and pulled all her hair out of Greg’s reach.

“I don’t want to look silly!” Irene replied.

“Cheese and crackers, you’re a doll. You’ll stick out way less as a human,” Beatrice muttered under her breath.

“I’m not so sure about this. Perhaps we should wait until we find out way home. There are some advantages to being a doll,” Irene said nervously.

Beatrice rolled her eyes, sighed, and took the scissors from Greg and Irene’s hand in one fluid motion. She barely paused to apologize to Irene before she snipped off the end of one of Irene’s fingers.

Irene let out a cry of shock and pulled her hand back. Greg and Beatrice watched her expectantly, but nothing happened.

“That was quite rude,” Irene managed.

“Sorry, but, um, well, you’re still a doll. The scissors didn’t work,” Beatrice said.

“Oh. Well, not matter. No use crying over the past, I think. Perhaps we will find another way. Now, we must fix my finger before I unravel entirely. I would do it, I am quite the seamstress, but I fear it would be too hard to do with one hand,” Irene said quickly.

Beatrice took Irene to her mother and then asked Greg to help her with the chickens in the backyard. Greg agreed at once for he had never taken care of chickens before and he knew that there was a nice little pond he could let Jason Funderburker, the frog, paddle around in for a bit.

But they did not stop at the little chicken house. Beatrice took him behind it with a serious look.

“What is it?” Greg asked.

“There’s something weird about Irene. She should be more upset about the whole scissors thing,” Beatrice said.

“Maybe she’s just hiding it. It seems like something a lady would do.”

“Maybe, but we should be careful about her. She might be using you for something.”

“Well I know that. She wants me to help her get home.”

“I’ll just feel better once we find Wirt and get you home.”

“So will I. Do we need to feed the chickens?”

"Probably. But watch out. The white one pecks,” Beatrice said, leading Greg to where the chicken feed was kept.

With the scissor ordeal behind them, Beatrice, Greg, and Irene once again focused on finding Wirt and going back home. Beatrice thought she knew someone who might be able to help. Greg agreed quickly because he trusted Beatrice. Irene also agreed quickly because she seemed ready to leave the messy, noisy home.

That night, Greg stayed up late, not quite able to sleep. His mind buzzed with Beatrice’s warning about Irene, worries about finding Wirt, and foggy memories of the time he had spent here before. That night, the woods were dark and silent. Greg found himself wishing they weren’t and longing for a hint of a lantern’s light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed the new chapter! Sorry it took a while to get up. I started two new jobs this week and also it turned out to need more editing than I thought. Anyways, fingers crossed for a timely update next week!

**Author's Note:**

> Since fall is coming and everyone seems to be ready to start Halloween early this year, I thought it was high time to post a fic that's been rattling around in my head for a while. I've written over half of it, so I should be able to post every week. There are still a few things I'm figuring out, so keep an eye on the tags as I'll add anything important there. Also I had a lot of fun writing little folksy songs and I'm trying to put one in each chapter. None of them have real tunes, so whatever you imagine is valid. I'm also ridiculously happy with this fic's style and even if its my own little weird preference from having lived my life on a steady diet of folklore, I hope you guys enjoy it too.


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